The tale of the Bli
by Lilabelle DuPont
Summary: "Only once before had a fleshy morsel come voluntarily..."
1. Chapter 1

The Bli looked up from its meal, maw still smeared with the entrails of the chubby toddler Katlyn had seen outside. At first it looked comically surprised, with its head cocked innocently to one side. Then, like gradual melting of frost, a slow smile of utter glee spread across the Bli's hideous face. Fastidiously, it wiped the blood from its thin lips, wielding the rag as daintily as a lady would a lace handkerchief.

Katlyn's heart faltered, then sped up, panicked as a trapped butterfly.

With the utmost care, the Bli set the rag down and straightened from its hunched stance. Standing on two legs, the Bli seemed eerily human; its every movement a grotesque parody of the human version.

Katlyn's face was as white as her knuckles were from gripping the handle of her knife. She spoke unsteadily. "You are about to meet your end, vile creature," her voice quavered, "for only one of us is leaving this cave alive, and be it not I, at least I shall see Erin once more."

This valiant speech had little effect on the Bli, who, with a spiteful leer, started to sidle closer, long nails clicking against the stone floor. Katlyn stood motionless. Encouraged by this, the Bli hobbled faster, its thin, thin arms outstretched like those of a grotesque baby, reaching for its mother.

With a trembling hand, Katlyn drew her knife and brandished it without conviction. Light flashed on metal; gave the Bli pause. Only once before had a fleshy morsel come voluntarily, but instead of offering itself up to its rightful lord and master, the fleshy morsel had also waved a sharp sliver of steel. Oh, how that little sliver had stung, stung so terribly. But no matter. The Bli, ultimately, had devoured the fleshy morsel alive. Just as it would this one.

The Bli started to hurry, limbs jerking hideously as it lolloped feverishly toward Katlyn. Her breaths came in quick gasps as she beheld its glistening needle-teeth, the puckered scars on its hairless scalp.

Just then, the sun set in a brilliant blaze of ruby and gold light. The evening rays backlit Katlyn most spectacularly, unbeknownst to Katlyn herself, painting her dark hair a bright mahogany. She did, however, feel the warmth on her back, and silently thanked the spirits for allowing her to experience one last sunset.

The Bli's horribly thin legs bent, tensed, it sprung with a bloodcurdling screech.

Katlyn had intended to squeal, but terror had left her mouth dry. She gasped, swiped the knife desperately. She had expected to split the Bli's swollen belly wide open, instead it dodged with contemptuous ease and scratched her cheek with a cruel, sharp fingernail.

Cupping the bleeding wound with one hand, Katlyn saw that the Bli had interposed itself between her and the glorious sunset. Cold rage ran through her veins at this. This monster, this _wretch _had killed Erin and countless others, had tried to waylay her on the lonely forest path, and _now_ it denied her this last joy. This was simply too much.

Savagely, Katlyn hurled the knife at the black silhouette of the Bli. It had been intent upon the corpse of the chubby toddler, clearly dismissing Katlyn as only a minor concern.

The perfect throw, about to lodge the knife firmly between the Bli's jagged shoulder blades, was deflected at the last moment. The Bli had heard the hiss of air as the blade sliced through it and turned hastily. It whipped out a bony hand, swiping the knife aside, where it fell leadenly to the ground.

Hatred, mingled with slight disbelief, registered in the Bli's huge, moist eyes. With saliva dripping from its pale lips, the Bli smiled mirthlessly. Needle-like teeth shone in the fading light, and a white tongue, pockmarked with sores, darted out hungrily.

Half leaning back from disgust, Katlyn edged forth warily, fingers itching for a knife to throw. Unfortunately her only weapon lay beneath the corpulent, sagging belly of the Bli. A perilous location, to be sure.

The Bli presently began an elaborate routine of wailing with its head thrown back, screeching, and clawing at the floor. Its gnarled spine was arched, bony clavicle thrust forth.

Katlyn was suitably unimpressed by these theatrics. A week ago, perhaps, she might have quailed, stricken with fear. But she, upon the loss of her knife, had resigned herself to sure death.

The Bli displayed no signs of letting her retrieve her weapon, instead shrieking and grunting in the most beastly fashion. Tortured moans were dragged from its throat while a horrible keening issued from its gaping jaws, like the death cry of-

"Oh shut your whining," Katlyn snapped.

The Bli, to its credit, did indeed shut its whining mid-grunt. For a moment it looked comically surprised, awful mouth still hanging open. Then, with a brusque little wriggle, the Bli stood upright, one foot resting casually on Katlyn's knife still. It looked, in the uncertain light, for all the world like an emaciated toddler, standing on two legs. A pallid, scarred toddler, that is. With a corset of jutting little ribs above its bloated potbelly. Insouciantly, the Bli rested one hand on its hip like a petulant teenage girl. The claws of its left foot tapped carelessly against Katlyn's knife. The Bli cocked its head to one side and grinned.

Katlyn, half-hysterical with horror, fought a morbid giggle. Any sane person would've curled up in the fetal position, crying softly for their mother. The Bli extended a questing hand, nails clicking ominously as though to say, "You've tried to kill me. You've failed. Now don't struggle when I chew your face off."

With a carefree gesture, Katlyn batted the gnarled, knobbly hand aside. She grinned back at the Bli with twice the radiance and also rested a hand on her hip. Also like a petulant teenage girl.

And for the first time, a flicker of discontent registered in the Bli's pale, wet eyes. It snarled, jerking forwards to make the fleshy morsel flinch. The fleshy morsel did not. She was as cool as ice, staring the Bli down with crystal blue eyes.

This was most unprecedented, ruminated the Bli. The other fleshy morsel had been bursting at the seams with chivalrous declarations and courageous boasting. Naturally, the boasting had diminished markedly after the man's face had been torn off. And yet… this gave the Bli pause… this girl was as nonchalant as ever, even after being robbed of her sliver of steel.

In truth, Katlyn was less nonchalant than she outwardly appeared. She was searching desperately for even the slightest opportunity to retrieve her weapon, to no avail. The paralyzing terror of confronting the Bli, had, strangely enough, started to thaw the grief in her heart. She still mourned for Erin, but that was eclipsed by a desire for revenge and some twisted semblance of fatalistic bravery. Which she now relied solely upon to keep her composure whilst staring down a monster.

And for a minute, girl and monster were still, staring at each other unflinchingly. Both were posing ridiculously, hand on hip. Behind the Bli, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

The Bli lunged, the girl dodged; the spell broke.

Katlyn flung herself sideways, feeling the breeze of swiping nails near her neck. The Bli had passed revoltingly close; she choked on its rancid odour of decay.

Katlyn dove for her knife, where it lay shining in the moonlight.

The Bli performed an aerial somersault, teeth clacking in dismay when they had been met with empty air, expecting to taste sweet flesh. Its joints swivelled hideously, bony crags beneath distended, pasty skin.

Katlyn's slender fingers closed on the knife's hilt. Then, upon hearing the sinister patter of eager feet, she ducked and threw at the same time.

The sickening crunch of bone and the gurgle of ruptured organs came from behind. An enraged, inhuman cry rang out, slowly fading. Hardly daring to believe her luck, Katlyn looked warily, squinting in the partial darkness.

Nothing.

Knife and Bli were gone.

Then, out of nowhere, the flap of wings heralded tiny, sharp, needle-teeth which sank into her shoulder.

Katlyn cried out, seizing the owner of the teeth and flinging it away. For a moment, her slender fingers sank into soft, strangely gelatinous skin; she felt protruding spires of bone and cartilage and tough, stringy muscle. The Bli squirmed repulsively in her grasp, its arms churning and flesh undulating. Then Katlyn's arm sent it spinning away into the gloom of the cave.

A sizable chunk of her shoulder had been torn away. Katlyn pressed a wad of cloth to the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

On the cave floor lay her knife, glinting wetly. The black substance it was coated in was too dark and viscous to be any normal blood. Of course, the Bli was anything but normal.

Katlyn hobbled over and seized her knife, wiping it hastily. She had her weapon, at least. She gritted her teeth against the throbbing pain, clutching the knife with the hand of the uninjured arm. Unfortunately, she threw with her right, and her right shoulder had just been eaten.

Clumsily, Katlyn tried a throw with her left hand. She'd aimed for a patch of lichen, roughly the size of the Bli's head.

If the lichen had been four feet to the right and flat on the floor, she would've hit it spot on. Katlyn tried to dispel these negative thoughts. Erin had been left-handed. Katlyn knew then that the muscles in her shoulder would never heal fully. Not enough for her to throw a knife. So she would be left-handed too.

The last vestiges of warmth and light were now gone. It was thoroughly night, a silky darkness dotted with stars. The night air was pleasing, but from inside the cave gushed the smell of dead things that had never seen light.

Naturally, Katlyn was nigh reluctant to enter.

But within dwelt the Bli, and so any chance of redemption.

Her shoulder aching keenly, Katlyn ventured in, each step more hesitant than the last. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, the Bli had spent the last of its energy on attacking her, then crawled back into the depths to die quietly. Katlyn's foot crunched on the rib of a long-dead victim. Or perhaps the Bli was lying in wait, enraged beyond doubt by her failed assassination attempt.

Now that her eyes had adjusted, Katlyn could perceive the indistinct outlines of stalagmites and stalactites, even slender pillars where the two had fused. There was no shortage of geological marvels to behold, were the viewer not intent upon darker things.

Katlyn flitted from shadow to shadow, soft-footed as a cat. There was no indication of the Bli, other than the remains of its past victims and the smell of rotting flesh, which permeated the air.

Lesser wills and weaker stomachs might have hastily presumed the Bli to be dead, then sprinted out of the cave at all speed. Katlyn displayed no such cowardice. Her courage was unwavering, though it was tempered with caution and an appreciation of her own weaknesses.

Weaknesses like her right shoulder. Or lack thereof.

The Bli, Katlyn surmised, had also vanished. There were no footprints, no trail of blood leading to its current hiding spot. Ideally, she would've lit a torch or lantern and hollered challenges into the cave's deepest recesses. But she had no torch, no lantern, and no shortage of injuries. The cave had a dark, oppressive atmosphere. Bare skeletons and bodies in various states of decay were strewn decoratively across the stone floor. The stalactites were reminiscent of the Bli's teeth, and even the gentle _plink_ of falling water seemed malign. Katlyn leaned casually against a stalagmite, deciding to let the Bli come to her.

She then realized that one of the corpses had shifted into a sitting position.

Katlyn did not turn her head, nor did she move aside from nonchalantly scratching her nose. Her heart was pounding, however, and she watched the corpse with wide eyes.

It had been a solidly built man, with sandy hair and crooked spectacles. Crooked, Katlyn mused, because his nose had been eaten. He was in better repair than most, for the Bli had graciously allowed him to retain all of his face except the nose. The man was slumped unnaturally against a boulder, his neck hideously skewed.

Inside, with wet slurps, the Bli rummaged about for the last remaining organs. Apparently a juicy one had been found, for the Bli gave a guttural cry of delight. Brisk chewing noises ensued. Katlyn's face was a pale oval in the dark. She dreaded the task at hand; to dissect a dead man and kill the monster within, while it feasted unaware.

Her feet glided across the floor, what little noise they made was drowned out by the Bli smacking its lips in delight. The man's stomach bulged grotesquely as the Bli strained for a juicy kidney or appendix.

A fibula snapped under Katlyn's boot with a crisp echo. She winced.

The undulations of the man's stomach abruptly ceased. From a black cavity in his back emerged the Bli, in all its glistening and bloody glory.

There was a brief, almost ridiculous hesitation as the Bli paused to catch its breath, bony chest heaving. Its distended stomach looked close to bursting, and the Bli tried several times to take to the air. Its tiny wings whirred, the Bli achieved a few inches of lift before its swaying stomach dragged it back down.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a brief, almost ridiculous hesitation as the Bli paused to catch its breath, bony chest heaving. Its distended stomach looked close to bursting, and the Bli tried several times to take to the air. Its tiny wings whirred, the Bli achieved a few inches of lift before its swaying stomach dragged it back down.

Katlyn, who had witnessed more horror in the past hour than most would in their lives, stifled a laugh. The Bli snapped its jaws at her, more out of frustration than malice as it tried once more to peel itself from the cave floor. Its attempts were met only with failure, for the Bli's stomach remained resolutely landbound as immovable as a nearby stalagmite.

Katlyn was duly amused by this; she mimicked the Bli's expression of pained dismay, pulling long faces and sniggering when it hissed in response.

To kill the Bli now would be ridiculously easy, she thought, while it lay prone, a victim of its own gluttony.

Katlyn took two steps forward, fingers tapping hesitantly on the knife's hilt. But what of her previous attempt? She had heard the knife enter the Bli's bony chest, saw presently the black puncture there. A supposedly mortal wound. And yet the Bli was alive and well, if not a bit stuffed and winded.

Katlyn took two steps more, this time with greater conviction. Yes, perhaps the Bli lacked a heart to stab, for it was a soulless emissary of the devil. But no creature could survive without a head, and so Katlyn would hack the Bli's off without pause.

The Bli in question surely sensed her intent, for it snivelled and whined most piteously, akin to a wretched child out in the cold. A revolting and naked child, to be sure, but one that inspired sympathy. The Bli's arms were clasped loosely about itself, eyes wide and innocent, lower lip jutting in an absurd pout.

Soft hearts would've liked to imagine that Katlyn felt some semblance of pity for the Bli, recognizing that it was merely a slave to its baser instincts and appetites.

On the contrary; she sent a sharp pebble into the Bli's ribs with a deft flick of the foot.

It abruptly dropped the sobbing child act, instead displaying all its needle-teeth in a wicked leer. The Bli brandished its curved claws, shoulder blades jutting like teeth under soft, white skin.

Katlyn crossed the final few metres with brisk, long, strides. She saw Erin's face in her mind. Grass-green eyes, rendered blank and lifeless.

The Bli smiled wider still-

Katlyn swung her knife.

-grinning even when its head went bouncing away. The Bli's decapitated body was still somewhat upright, limbs splayed grotesquely.

And one of its claws had slipped treacherously between Katlyn's ribs. She stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, hearing a wet gurgle with every breath she took. Katlyn's knife fell leadenly to the ground with a metallic clatter. This was followed by the softer sound of a body crumpling and also falling to the floor.

Katlyn lay there awhile, listening to the sound of her own faltering heartbeat. Outside the cave, dawn must have broken, for the darkness was gradually lightening and faint birdsong could be heard. Her last thought was of Erin, and then she sank gratefully into grass-green silence.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a pretty maid with grass-green eyes. If anyone had happened by, they would've assumed she was drawing water from the well, or scattering feed for the chickens.

In truth, the pretty maid was doing neither. She was stone dead, all her innards scooped out and eaten, her grass green eyes lifeless. Deep in the bushes, the Bli finished slurping up the pretty maid's intestines. Licking its thin lips with a pale white tongue, it swooped off into the night, still hungry.

The girl's hollow body was still propped casually against a fence, blood staining the ground under her slippered feet.

The Bli was an unassuming killer. Scarcely the size of a housecat, its size gave no hint of its voracious appetite and fearsome strength. It had the head of a human baby, that is, a baby that had eaten only raw meat and never seen sunlight. Jagged ribs protruded like spires above a sagging, swollen belly. A disproportionately tiny body with a jutting spine and horribly thin arms was clothed in thin, pasty, pale skin. Skin that gaped with lesions and sores and betrayed glimpses of ruined, dark flesh.

No one knew where these wounds had come from. Some speculated that once, a great warrior had taken up arms against the Bli, wounding it horrifically before his very face was chewed off. Ever since, the Bli had been decidedly wary of adult men, feasting only upon the youngest women and small children.

It liked that arrangement better anyway. Their flesh was more supple; it readily separated from the bone. As the sun rose, the sky gradually lightened and black gave way to blue. A farmer, leading a couple of cows, called a greeting to the pretty maid. Curious at how she didn't respond, not even glancing in his direction, he edged a trifle closer. "Erin? Have you been outside all night?"

The corpse offered no response.

The cows the farmer led smelled the dead flesh starting to decay. They tugged at their rope halters and refused to follow him any nearer. "Erin, how rude of you! If I were a merchant with nice hair ribbons, would you still ignore me?"

The pretty maid imparted no opinions on that.

The farmer finally noticed the dark stains at the hem of her gown and on the ground at her feet. Leaning closer, he saw that her grass-green eyes were glazed over, already starting to rot in their sockets.

When the farmer stumbled back in horror, he tripped over a root and fell flat on his backside. This was most fortunate, as the Bli had then decided to leap out of a gaping hole in Erin's back and launch itself at the farmer's head.

The Bli's swiping claws met only empty air. Undaunted and unconcerned, it performed several aerial flips of glee before zooming off in hot pursuit of the now fleeing farmer.

A half hour later, the Bli returned to the pretty maid's corpse, notably more sluggish. Its distended stomach swayed heavily as it flew, practically dragging on the ground behind it. The Bli cursed itself for feeding so enthusiastically; the farmer had been a trifle too plump. With its belly swinging as freely as a pendulum and wings struggling, the Bli approached Erin's corpse. The Bli had to widen the hole in her back noticeably, squeezing inside with a moist squelch. The pretty maid bent at the knees, wobbling slightly as the Bli resettled itself. The Bli only revisited its victims if it found their bodies exceptionally pleasing, making a temporary nest of them.

The pretty maid had been a bit too slender, but, to compensate, her skin was elastic in the extreme, which the Bli now demonstrated as it lounged and stretched happily within. It smacked its lips in delight, casually resting a foot upon a rib and wiggling its bottom a few times to attain maximum comfort. There was nothing, thought the Bli, like falling asleep with a full stomach at dawn, before the other prey had even awakened.

Dreaming of vile things and succulent treats, the Bli fell asleep-

-and awoke a half hour later because of a high-pitched wail. A woman, possibly an opera singer, had discovered the farmer's remains in the street. The Bli cracked open a bleary eye and yawned, displaying bright white needle teeth and a scarred, pockmarked tongue. It poked its scabby head out of Erin's back and craned it about to see.

"Michael! Oh Michael!" the woman had her back to the Bli, but her wailing would soon attract the other villagers, who would in turn discover the pretty maid and thus the Bli itself.

Leisurely, the Bli crawled out of Erin's back like a great, glistening worm, all swollen and bloody in the pale light. It did a morning stretching routine, listening to the woman's sobs.

The woman sensed the emergence of something vile and unclean behind her. With frozen joints, she turned to see the Bli, bloody and gleaming, but caught in the middle of an embarrassing quadriceps stretch.

Bli and woman stared at each other for a heartbeat. Her eyes flickered to the body of the pretty maid. She gave another opera-singer scream, which broke the spell. The Bli ran towards her, arms outstretched, teeth bared in a grin, tiny feet hammering the ground in its haste. The Bli snarled and leapt, but was tripped by its own trailing belly.

The woman ran away screaming, her tone ever escalating in pitch.

Men bearing pitchforks and torches poked their heads reluctantly out of their homes. They made all sorts of manly gestures, including the flexing of arms and mustaches alike. But they all prodded each other to go forth, not wanting at all to be leading the charge against the Bli, a thing of nightmares.

The Bli waited patiently, hands on hips.

At last, after a lot of nudging, one man who was either braver or stupider than the rest started forward. He ran at the Bli, brandishing a shovel, though his scream was higher than that of the woman's.

Contemptuously, the Bli turned its back on him and flew away into the blue sky.


	4. Chapter 4

Erin's body had been lowered into the earth at daybreak, with only a few mourning her death. Among them was a diminutive girl with pale blue eyes and unusually dark, thick, magnificent hair. She was not weeping like Erin's brother, nor wailing like Erin's parents; instead her eyes were hard and her mouth set. She had cried all her tears the night before, and now her heart was set upon revenge. Revenge for Erin. Poor, sweet Erin, who spoke to cats and knitted little boots for them in the winter.

The girl with the ice blue eyes straightened, cast a lingering glance at Erin's grave, then set off into the lightening dawn. Off to kill the Bli.


	5. Chapter 5

Katlyn's breaths came in short huffs as she bounded the final few metres to lurch into a clump of bushes. There she crouched, heart racing due to both excitement and exertion.

Scarce seconds after, a young man wandered past her place of concealment.

"Katlyn!" Erin's brother called. "Katlyn?"

Her heart was pounding loud enough, Katlyn supposed, for Erin's brother to hear. The young man had dried tear-streaks on his face, and his nose was as red as a cherry from searching so long in the chill autumn air.

Before Erin's death, this sight would have tugged at Katlyn's heart and sent her galumphing out of the bushes to comfort him. But the loss of her closest and oldest friend had hardened her heart. With steely eyes, she glared out of the leaves and silently urged Erin's brother to be on his way.

With a final, forlorn sniffle, the young man obliged. He shuffled past, crying softly for a dead sister and her possibly dead friend.

Again, this was a heartrending sight. But Katlyn's heart was frozen; cold as her ice blue eyes.

A few minutes later, once she had ascertained that he was truly gone, the bushes trembled and regurgitated a chilly, rumpled girl, who spent several minutes removing twigs from some sensitive areas.

Katlyn dug the final twig out of her trousers. "How did that get in there?" Then she smoothed down the front of her fine wool coat. She had a few more changes of clothes in her knapsack, but had decided to wear her favourite shirt this morning, to cheer herself up.

Away from her village, away from any reminders of Erin, Katlyn found herself in an unusually light mood. She skipped, she sang, she fantasized about mounting the Bli's head on a wall. Her vague plan for revenge consisted mainly of wandering the country roads as a seemingly hapless traveler, waiting for the Bli to take notice. The Bli, used to little opposition, would likely herald its own arrival, probably with all manner of shrieks, grunts, and other unholy noises. Katlyn, therefore, would not be snuck up upon by this demon.

She was not foolish enough to think that she could best the Bli with pure strength. Its slender, white arms, like those of the fairest lady, concealed a shocking, uncanny strength. All accounts agreed that the Bli could snap bones with the flick of the wrist, or lift squealing babies from their cribs, killing desperate parents en route.

Katlyn would be cunning in her quest of vengeance. She would lay traps for the Bli, arm herself with inventive weapons, perhaps. Even then, to succeed with her own life intact was unlikely. Katlyn was rather unperturbed by this. A part of her had already died with Erin, anyways. Her life was of little value no.

Caught up with these grim fantasies, Katlyn failed to notice the young man astride a horse until she crashed into the both of them.

There was a whirl of horse legs and trodden grass, which culminated with Katlyn being deposited neatly on her rump in the grass. Flipping her luxurious hair out of her eyes, Katlyn affixed the rider with a mightily baleful glare.

They young man seemed not to notice this, for he also flipped his hair cheerily, though with considerably less effect. It was limp and sandy, and flopped across his brow like a dead fish. Katlyn's, comparatively, rippled with mahogany light and settled gently about her shoulders like a cloak.

The young man was privately disgruntled by this disparity, but he nevertheless thrust his hand at Katlyn with a wide grin.

Katlyn stared the hand down, wondering whether he were offering a handshake or trying to help her up. She stood on her own, giving the hand a brief, somewhat belated shake.

"Your horse is either blind or saddled with an incompetent rider."

The incompetent rider dismissed the insult goodnaturedly. "Should you not take some blame too? Who, do I recall, was trudging across the field like a bog wight, head irresponsibly down?"

Katlyn could not muster a tart reply to this, so she picked up her bag from where it lay and said, "I am Katlyn O'Leary, from the dilapidated village to the south."

The boy grinned with evident relief to hear a halfway civil response. "The name's Gregory! I hail from Wynhurst."

"I've heard of Wynhurst. Gregory, you are? Do you answer to 'Greg'?"

"I do not."

"You are Greg to me, then."

"Can I call you 'Kat'?"

Katlyn's heart twinged horribly, is though the Bli gnawed at it. Cat-obsessed Erin had called her exactly that, oft times while petting a stray or knitting little boots. Her eyes were suddenly wet. "You may not."

Gregory did not seem to mind this. "Very well, _Katlyn_, what is your business in these parts?"

Said Katlyn suddenly turned very evasive indeed. "Ah, well, the Bli has been rather active in my village of late-" She paused. "What are you doing?"

Gregory had made several frantic signs to ward away evil. Fingers were swiftly crossed and interlocked; he even repeated these for his horse. He leaned forth in his saddle. "Do not utter its name, foolish girl! Call it the Diarrhea Beast, or the Devourer of Maidens, if you must. But you must _never_," he shivered, as though taken by a sudden chill, "speak that fateful syllable, or it shall hasten towards you on wings of darkness and plague."

"They look like plucked chicken wings, actually." Katlyn said. "Rather small. There ought to be a violation of physics right there."

"You have laid eyes upon the Horror? My, but you are a brazen girl, to be sure."

Katlyn shifted irritably. "What is there to fear in a name? A Bli is a Bli, and you shall refer to it as such!"

With a cry of woe, Gregory once again repeated the complex finger contortions to protect himself from evil, this time twofold.

"Does it really perturb you that much?" Katlyn was duly amused. "Then what say you to this: BliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBliBl-"

Gregory clapped a hand over her mouth, face pale and drawn. "You have been possessed, my dear, by something truly awful. We shall now ride swiftly to Wynhurst, where I shall have someone perform an exorcism on you. Here; I shall hold your satchel while you mount Blaze."

Katlyn recoiled. "I refuse to ride a horse with such an unimaginative name! Did you think of that one?"

"Yes! And I think it's quite a fine name; look at the white blaze upon her forehead." Gregory shook his head. "What am I doing, tarrying? Get on quickly, demonic child, and we shall hurry to a priest."

Katlyn recognized that the Bli would more likely attack a populous settlement like Wynhurst, and the fastest way to get there would be on horseback. "So," she said conversationally, as she struggled with Blaze's stirrups. "Nice weather of late?"

Gregory was a little preoccupied with the reins. "Yes, sure."

"Good harvest?"

"Yes."

"And, erm…" Katlyn tried to seem casual, "has the 'Diarrhea Beast' or the 'Devourer of Maidens' been active of late in Wynhurst?"

Gregory twisted about awkwardly. "Thank you, at least, for using substitutes of that name. And what a strange fancy you have! No doubt a byproduct of your madness. What compels you to ask?"

"Um, our village has had a string of murders," she said, which was true, "and I have been sent to solicit the aid of Father Lucius, whom I believe resides in Wynhurst?" she said, which was false.

"He does indeed."

Katlyn permitted the silence to stretch on a little while before pursuing the subject anew. "So _has_ the Bl- I mean- the Horror been active of late?" She tried her utmost to sound worried, and not fiendishly eager.

Even Blaze cocked an eyebrow at this.

"Ah, it has. These are dark times we live in, dark times indeed. Why, I remember that as a boy, I was playing in the marshes with Blaze, who was then but a colt, and she-"

Katlyn cut off what would've been a long and philosophical speech. "I think it's 'foal' you're looking for."

"It's colt."

"Foal!"

"You're a fool!"

Katlyn delivered a swift jab to Gregory's ribs. He howled like the Bli, causing Blaze to miss a step in her cantering. Katlyn cupped a hand around one ear. "What did I hear? 'You're absolutely right,' I heard, 'It's foal, not colt'."

"Hurmughr!" he blubbered.

Katlyn laughed, the first time she'd done so since Erin's death. She cleared her throat apologetically, though, since Gregory had been kind enough to let her ride his unimaginatively named horse, at least to get her exorcised.

"It was wrong of me to rupture my benefactor's appendix," she acquiesced. "I'm sorry."

Gregory tried to muster a reply, but was cut short by Blaze's alarmed whinny.

And that was when they smelled the rotting flesh.

At the crossroads there was a signpost. Tied securely to the signpost was the picked-clean corpse of a girl, presumably, judging by the dress. A neat little hole had been opened up in her belly, and all her organs had been ferried away by tiny hands.

Aside from that, insects and birds had made quick work of the rest of the girl, until her bones were gleaming and held together only by muscle and sinew. Gregory paled beneath his freckles.

"Look away if you're feeling queasy," Katlyn advised.

Gregory did better than looking away. He wheeled Blaze around and spurred her to a gallop across the fields, screaming like a lady who had found a spider in her undergarments.

Katlyn's hair streamed out behind her like a banner; she was unperturbed. "She's hardly about to come running after us, Gregory. Indeed, she seems in no fit condition to."

He did not acknowledge this keen observation, instead changing to a far more circuitous route which carried them far away and around the girl's remains.

Katlyn enjoyed the breeze and made several gratuitous comments about his weight and why exactly Blaze was flagging.

"She's carrying you too, remember," Gregory was quick to insist. "Don't point fingers."

Katlyn had mustered a tart reply to this, but at that moment they crested a hill and Wynhurst came into view.

It was indeed a proper town, one where the buildings were built of stone, not wood, and the roofs were shingle instead of thatch. It made for a cheery little sight; crowds of people at the market or chatting by a fountain, smoke rising from the chimneys and horses trotting down little roads; all of them paved. The general hubbub of overlapping voices and horses' hooves was audible even from a distance.

Gregory wore a pleased little smile. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"To some;" Katlyn answered, "not I."

He pretended not to hear this as he let Blaze trot sedately down the main road, her hooves clacking smartly.

Katlyn felt a sudden twinge of guilt at her deception; she resolved to tell Gregory what her real intent in Wynhurst was.

"I lied," said she, eyes downcast. "About why I wanted to come here."

"Oh?" He did not seem to be listening.

"Yes." Katlyn knew she would have to phrase this with maximum efficacy and tact, to both persuade and placate. Choosing the subtlest and most delicate of phrasings, she uttered, "I'm here to kill the Bli."


	6. Chapter 6

Katlyn was quite, _quite _disgruntled by her inactivity. An hour had elapsed since she had waylaid Gregory with the revelation of her true intent in Wynhurst. With scarcely more than a cry of woe he had toppled from Blaze (though not before completing the requisite hand gestures, of course) and had fallen to the ground, senseless.

As a neighbourly gesture, Katlyn had heaved him onto Blaze, where he flopped over her sides like an overgrown sausage. Taking her reins, Katlyn had led Blaze and her cargo down the main road and into the town, where Gregory's eldest sister, upon recognizing Blaze, rushed to haul her brother into her home.

"What happened?" She had asked, mopping his brow with a wet cloth.

"He had a bit of a shock," Katlyn had answered, not entirely lying. "He fell and hit his head, so I draped him over Blaze and brought him to Wynhurst." She had paused. "I remembered him mentioning he lived there. When he wakes he'll likely spew nonsense and gibberish, regarding myself and exorcisms. Pay no heed to it. He hit his head hard."

The woman had reached over and given Katlyn's cheek a brief, perfunctory pat. "You brave girl. I cannot thank you enough."

Katlyn hung her head, guilt eating away at her innards. Gregory's sister had also believed her story about soliciting aid from Father Lucius and had let her stay in her home until the next morning.

It was now evening; the sky was a deepening mauve and dappled with pale stars. The air smelled of honeysuckle. She couldn't stay. Not only because Gregory would soon wake and discredit her story, but because there was something in his gregarious, carefree manner that reminded her of Erin. Katlyn could not bear his presence any longer, for it inspired a deep, deep yearning within her. On silent feet, she padded out of Gregory's sister's house and into the quiet streets.

Katlyn ghosted from shadow to shadow, senses alert. Her ice blue eyes were wide; two pale orbs in the darkness. In one hand she clutched a potato-peeling knife, pilfered from a bucket of unpeeled potatoes left out on a porch. What a potato knife would do against the Bli she did not know, but to grip the hilt lent her courage, and courage would be crucial when the world was dark and silent as a crypt, as it was now.

A slight breeze gusted, the night was still.

Then a winged shadow swooped across the cobblestones.

To her eternal embarrassment, Katlyn gave vent to a high-pitched squeal. The Bli, perched gargoyle-like upon a roof above, cocked its head marginally. Like a pale, swollen spider, it crawled down the nearest drainpipe, moving vertically. Not once did its orb-like eyes leave the petrified girl in the alley.

Katlyn felt a cold dread settle like sediment in her bones. A small, instinctive part of her instructed her to stay perfectly still, though that would be folly when the Bli was presently creeping ever nearer.

The Bli shone dully in the night, so pallid was its clammy flesh. It stood with hands on hips, legs spread further apart than was decent. In a sickeningly human gesture, it raised a hand and waggled its fingers mockingly at Katlyn. Then, claws clicking sharply, the Bli advanced slowly, preceded by its silken shadow, which slid over the walls and ground towards her.


End file.
